


i dare you to unlock my heart

by Smilla



Series: Victor Lives [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2010, Episode: Jus In Bello, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilla/pseuds/Smilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Victor lets Dean have what he wants, and ends getting something he wasn't expecting in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i dare you to unlock my heart

**Author's Note:**

> New installemnt in the series. One day I'll write the backstory for this, but, before the natural heartbreak of the new season starts, I wanted happy sex. Beta love to maerhys. Any other mistake is mine.  
> [Originally posted [here](http://smilla02.livejournal.com/212460.html).]

Victor lets Dean have what he wants every time. It's not conscious. Dean will suggest something with a purring voice and a lopsided smirk that says he doesn't believe Victor has the balls to go through with it, and Victor will feel compelled to wipe it off his face. It doesn't matter that it's a stupid stunt while chasing a werewolf or a blowjob in the dark alley behind the bar full of loud and very drunk rednecks they've just scammed out of their hard-earned money, Victor goes with it. The pleased, winning smile Dean tries to hide behind his palm when it's clear that Victor's on board is the last small drop in the ocean of frustration that is Dean Winchester.

One day, he decides, he'll take a hard look at himself and try to figure out how he went from respectable federal agent to demon hunter with a side of con man, but for now, he's satisfied to snap the handcuffs close with enough force to pinch the tender skin on the underside of Dean's wrist when he ties him up against the headboard.

Victor looks at Dean's hands and pointedly ignores the fact that the pleasure at seeing the steel curled around Dean's wrists is a shade or three different than what he thought he'd feel once upon a time when Dean was another fucking psycho he needed to take down. And well, it turns out that Dean's a kind of a different psycho than the type Victor was expecting, but that revelation says more about who Victor is, considering that, even with this newly gained insight, he's willing to follow him.

The motel room is the daily edition of cheap, dirty, and tacky. The walls are cardboard-thin and the door shakes with every dust of wind, the sheets are a shade of gray and covered in suspect stains and too much industrial detergent. On the other hand, the coverlet are so dusty they make Victor's nose twitch in protest. Victor doesn't mind; it's a resting place like any others, even if the temperature is this side of cold and Victor shivers when he unbuttons his shirt. He thinks, idly, that maybe it's the trashy place that makes Dean shine even more. Smooth, soft skin where it's not marred with the white lines of scars, the geography of people saved through a life spent in violence. It's a maddening dichotomy that Victor's still trying to reconcile. Dean is crazy, Victor's sure of this, but Victor's not less crazy for going along with him in every way.

Victor straightens. He's not sure this is a good idea, hasn't been since Dean had dangled the cuffs with a suggestive look, half-hopeful and half-dark, and said, "What do you say we put these to good use?" There had been something in his voice past the evident tells, and Victor had felt the weight Dean was putting on his answer. No, it isn't a good idea, not with Dean's history of nearly half a century spent in hell, a well of years Dean made clear were off-limits.

He stares at Dean.

His eyes are closed, lids trembling and casting half-moon shadows over his cheekbones, a forced immobility in his arms and chest and in his clenched hands that speaks louder than any trashing Victor might have expected.

Victor's right there, ready to tell him how shitty he finds the idea, when Dean opens his eyes and his look open and honest and marginally relaxed. There's a bead of sweat on Dean's brow, but he deliberately opens his fist and twists his palms upward.

Finally, he nods, as if Victor had questioned him out loud, and then the little shit smirks and draws his legs apart, first button of his jeans open and taunting, a temptation that wipes away every reservation Victor has.

Victor presses the heel of his hand along the silhouette of Dean's cock, eyes on Dean's face so he doesn't miss the muscle that jumps in his jaw. Dean rolls his hips, slow and lazy, but doesn't push into Victor's hand.

"You're liking this way too much for being the one tied to the bedpost". Victor twists his hand and pushes a palm forcefully against Dean's cock to make a point. He's rewarded by the slow widening of Dean's eyes, a wiggle of his hips that's more trembling than conscious movement. He leans against Dean's chest, skin on skin, Dean's colder than his own after being exposed longer to the moist air of the room.

"Just so you know, I don't remember where I put the keys," he adds, and Dean's mouth is so close he has to bite it. Dean's answer is an arch of his back and a slow swipe of tongue to lessen the sting of Victor's teeth. It leaves them wet and redder and glinting. The outline of Dean's jaw distracts Victor from it, and he bites on the corner, moves slowly to the soft skin under his ear and the corded tendon that jumps up when Dean seconds him.

Dean says, "I know five ways to get out of handcuffs without your fucking keys." It's only a whisper, warm breath into Victor's ear that makes the hairs on his arms stand and his cock fill. Under the tease, there's a dare Victor can't let go unnoticed.

"Hmm," he says. "I should make it more difficult for you, then."

His plan is derailed when Dean moves suddenly, upper back raised from the bed. The move is clumsy, awkward, because Victor's secured his hands flat against the pillow, he's secured his hands well, not a lot of give. But Dean twists and bites on Victor's upper lip, and Victor bends his head just so and it's perfect symmetry, and hot tongue, and the surprising softness of Dean's mouth after the scrape of beard against his chin. Blood rushes fast and loud in his ears, hot inside his veins, and pulsing hard in the stretch of his jeans at his crotch and through the hardness of his cock.

He trails a hand up to Dean's left wrist and tugs until his arms give and Dean's flat again against the mattress. He snakes the other hand into the narrow space between their hips, smiles into Dean's mouth when Dean shivers at the fleeting touch of knuckles on the length of his cock. Through the fabric, the touch is more a tease than anything else; he knows because the same sensation makes him tremble when he tries, with fumbling hands, to unbutton his own pants, and lets his own cock rest, free finally, against Dean's trapped one.

Dean moans, lips moving with words Victor can't hear above the delicious friction of cloth against his cock. He swallows them, instead, a breathlessness Dean doesn't articulate, words he himself can't let past his own lips. Dean wiggles beneath him, trapped by Victor's body, he can only try to push forward with the give the soft mattress allows.

Victor knows that Dean's hands would be all over him if Dean wasn't tied up, and there's a part of him that misses the scrape of callous and blunt ragged nails over his sides and back, how Dean will guide Victor's mouth and hands with a push of his hip or a graceful twist of his body. And yet, when Victor bites into the delicate skin between Dean's neck and shoulder, Dean's hands clench before slowly falling limp inside the handcuffs and something in Victor's brain falls and disappears with the magnitude of trust Dean's offering – this man who he'd chased for years, obsessing over the day he'd put him inside a cage.

Dean seems to sense something, because his body stills in curiosity. Victor raises his head, chest flush and greedy against Dean's. He focuses on the sharp, raised curve of Dean's eyebrow, speechless and jammed somewhere between the act of thinking too much and the hot flush of heat spreading through his chest.

"That's why you never caught up with me, Victor," Dean says, with something close to a fond smile that Victor only catches sideways right before Dean closes his eyes to hide it. He offers the vulnerable underside of his throat, instead, and Victor shakes his head and licks at it, a long stripe from the hollow spot under his Adam's Apple to his chin. He follows the wet trails with his forefinger, pressing slowly just under Dean's ear, into his mouth when Dean chases it greedily.

"You're making this entirely too easy for me," Dean says when his mouth is free. A jingle of metal comes from above, but Victor can hear the reluctance to let the game end too soon even as he follows the ridge of muscles leading to Dean's nipple.

"Get on with the program, or I swear--" Victor shuts him up with teeth and tongue around a flat nipple, only slightly disappointed that he won't get to hear the kind of creative threats Dean would have dished out. He makes him arch, instead, with a sharp pinch and small bites and doesn't stop until Dean's breathing hard and his cock's wetting the open fly of his jeans.

"Fuck you," Dean says when Victor stops. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

Victor ignores him, straightens, and straddles Dean's thighs. He licks his lips, sensitive and sore and wet with a trail of saliva that he wipes with a finger and presses into the wet slit of Dean's cock. Dean's voice is a rough litany of _yes, fuck, yes,_ when Victor slowly unzips his jeans, then his body tenses beautifully when Victors lowers his head to mouth the head of his cock, no tongue involved, only a platonic kiss that's enough to taste the sour scent of Dean. Victor looks up and Dean's not even trying to get free of those handcuffs. He presses a hand to his stomach, hollowed out and stretched thin under his ribcage in the strained position. His muscles quiver when Victor finally takes Dean's cock inside his mouth, no real friction yet, just wet heath and fast licks so he can hear Dean's incoherent requests for more. When Dean tries to thrust up, Victor pushes him back against the mattress, hand around the rounded bone of one hipbone,.

The teasing isn't tortuous only for Dean, and Victor has to let go of Dean's cock for a moment to palm his own erections before he comes against Dean's thighs messily and entirely too soon.

It's the wrong move, a tactical fail, because Dean sees him, and he hooks his legs around Victor's waist, knees high on his back so that Victor falls with a woof against his mouth. Victor's cocks ends in the groove of Dean's hip, and the pressure there is just right, and nearly undoes all his work.

"Easy," Victor says when Dean finally lets go of his mouth. But Dean only snarls and bites hard on Victor's lower lip.

"Then move, dammit." Dean tugs at the handcuffs hard enough to make the headboard rattle against the wall. "Don't let me get out of these, or you can forget about fucking this fine ass tonight."

Victor watches him intently, skin bright with sweat in the golden light spilling from the lamp, red marks around his lips and throat. He's breathing hard, the air crowded with so much heat coming from their skin. He says, "Let me go, Dean." And maybe there's something on his face that Dean sees and likes, because his legs fall on the mattress with a thump and a startled laugh.

"Okay."

Victor's smile stretches his lips, but the tension has pooled low in his loins, ready to tip him over the edge if he doesn't take a moment for a deep breath. It's not easy to let go of this, of Dean, but he does, bounces up and off the bed, shimmies out of his jeans and boxers and hops back onto the bed again.

"I've got to tell you. I thought you'd put more of a fight," he tells Dean while he peels Dean's jeans from his legs. But Dean's watching his every move, and he doesn't answer.

When Victor stands again to find a condom and lube, Dean's eyes wander over his body with an open appreciation that makes his skin raise in goose bumps and his cock twitch.

"God, Victor," Dean says finally, too low and choked and sliding off his skin soft as a caress, voice as effective as if Dean grabbed him, the way Victor's body bends toward the bed, toward that irresistible pull he's given up on resisting. Victor's hand closes around the thin foil of lube and condom, and it's only the loud bang of a door coming from somewhere behind the wall that startles him into moving.

Dean's legs are bent and spread apart, perfect nest for Victor to fit in. He rolls the condom on his cock and then he's breaking the packet of lube and smearing a cool blob of it against Dean's ass, a hand on the underside of Dean's thigh to keep him still. Dean tenses at that first intrusion, but he's pushing back soon, hands curled around the headboard for leverage. The glint of metal around his wrists makes Victor's breath catch and he works fast, spurred into urgency by the soft noises Dean makes when Victor breaches him, slowly, so slowly.

Bright spots explode behind his lids when he's finally there, legs trembling in protest for the imposed stillness when every muscle is straining to move. When he opens his eyes, he finds Dean's clenched shut, mouth drawn in a thin line and head pressed back onto the pillow. He's distantly aware of his surroundings, the voices outside and the cool draft of air that the defective window can't keep out. The tick-tock of Dean's wristwatch and the settling of the furniture with their muted groans of old wood. It's a perfect moment, bright and clear. Something Victor wishes could put aside for forever, a fleeting shard of happiness against the madness that now governs his life.

"Dean," he calls, though he's not sure what he's going to say, how to translate in words that won't make everything cheap. Dean opens his eyes and nods, eyes dark and understanding like maybe he too gets it.

"C'mon, Victor. Move." And where Dean's voice is low and rough, the push of his knees on Victor's lower back isn't hesitant and puts them back chest to chest. Victor nods uselessly inside the humid heat of Dean's neck, starts moving with slow thrusts of hips that make Dean flutter and clench around him. Their rhythm increases soon, each movement forward matched by one backward until they finally find the exact mix of speed and depth when Dean crosses his legs around Victor waist, heels pushing hard into his lower back.

Victor won't last long, not after halting his orgasm so many times already tonight. He tries to work his hands between them where Dean's cock's trapped, but Dean stops him with a shake of his head, weirdly silent and intent and focused on Victor's face. That's when Victor's last barrier comes down. He thrusts messily and hard, no rhythm or finesse, chasing the desperate clench of Dean's inside muscles when he draws back. One two, three times before he feels the tingle of pleasure spread upward from his navel, an unstoppable tide that drowns every sound when it pulls him underwater.

He's barely aware of the warm, wet pulsing between their body. Of his own choked shout and Dean's echoing one. For a blessedly long moment, everything but their joined bodies is distant, and the pleasure is sharp and beating in his ears, before he falls, limp and boneless against Dean's body.

He comes up for air gradually: smell and touch and, finally, sight. His head is resting beside Dean's, his chin wedged between neck and shoulder. It's a perfect position to observe the flicker of Dean's lids when he opens his eyes, an advantageous point of view to catch the fond smile Dean doesn't try to hide.

It tugs weirdly at Victor's heart with the weight of things he cannot take head-on not right now. Still, it's the most Dean's offered so far, so Victor pulls playfully at a strand of sweat-matted hair until Dean's smile morphs into a shit-eating grin. The moment is gone as if it never happened.

It's only then that Victor realizes that Dean's right arm is resting across his back, definitely free from the handcuff.

"Told you," Dean gloats.

Victor only rolls onto his back and laughs. It doesn't matter, really. He'll let Dean get away with being pleased with himself. He's pretty sure this is not the kind of dare he's supposed to win.

\--


End file.
